In Another Life
by PsychLockMutant
Summary: Also called A Short Step Off A Tall Building. *MAJOR SPOILERS CONTAINED IN THIS STORY* Set during the Reichenbach Fall. Moriarty has returned and reveals that Sherlock must kill himself to save his three closest friends. What if this is something not even Sherlock Holmes could have predicted? Reviews are life. I put complete, but that depends on what y'all think...


**Hello all! So I haven't posted anything in ages partly because my TMNT story didn't do as well as I had hoped and partly because I was so busy. Sorry about that! I need a lot of reviews on this one. How about 10? Maybe? Anyway, I am a big fan of alternate ending fics. This will be an alternate ending to the Reichenbach Fall. *MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THIS EPISODE* so don't continue if you don't want the episode to be ruined. No slash intended or implied. This is written in the first person from Sherlock's point of view for most of the story. My sincere apologies if this story is terrible.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. I love it though.**

**For those of you who have seen the episode but need a quick refresher…**

**Sherlock and Moriarty are on the roof, engaged in an extraordinary Battle of Brains. Moriarty drops a bombshell on Sherlock by revealing that England's infamous detective must kill himself or his three closest friends will be murdered. What if this was something not even Sherlock Holmes could have predicted?**

Not many people can surprise me. I'm usually five steps ahead of everyone. But not today. Not when it mattered the most. John. Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade. They would be dead in a matter of minutes, unless I reduce my travel time back down to the lobby. An unusual feeling is welling up inside of me. _Panic._ I can't recall another time in my life when panic was my predominant emotion. James Moriarty tends to do that to people.

My mind is racing, but not the good _I've got a plan that's going to save the day_ racing. It's the _grasping for straws_ racing. And I believe I've hit the bottom of the haystack. I gingerly place one foot on the edge of the roof and peer over the edge. I see people. Ordinary people. I used to look down on ordinary people, almost pity them. Now, I pity me; and, for a brief second, I wish I was one of those ordinary people. But I've solved too many cases and saved too many lives to regret anything now.

I feel Moriarty's smile. It's creepy in a way I have never experienced before. I take my foot off the ledge and slowly turn around. Tears burn my eyes and blur my vision, but I know that no matter what I choose I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing those tears fall. I stare at him intently trying to gather information, get some sort of clue. He was staring back, still smiling and still unmoving.

My chest aches. I think he is succeeding in burning my heart out. Slowly and deliberately, he spreads his arms out wide and says, "So Sherlock? Are you going to let your friends die and truly be a failure? Or are you going to sacrifice yourself to save them?" His smile widens. "Decisions, decisions."

Cases begin to push their way to the forefront of my mind. And in the middle of all of them, I see John. John Watson. The most loyal friend and detective I could ask for. Once he reaches 221b Baker Street, he'll realize that I had pulled the proverbial wool over his eyes. He'll come racing back only to find me, splattered on the pavement. He'll believe the rumors: I am a fraud, possibly even a villain. I cannot allow that. He needs to know that none of it is true. He needs to know that everything we have done has been real.

I stand up straighter, resolve burning in my eyes. John _will_ know the truth. I pop my coat collar up and clear my throat. "I will jump under one condition." One of Moriarty's eyebrows raises.

"Sherlock, I don't believe you get to make any conditions at the moment. But I will humor you for now. What do you want?"

"I want to send a text. One text, Moriarty. That's all I ask. And then I'll jump. No tricks. You'll win."

He giggles. _Giggles!_ "If you're trying to save them, Sherlock, you can't. My people are professionals. They'll finish the job whether you warn them or not." He giggles again; I wish I could punch him. "But why not? Send your text. Then fly, Sherly! Fly!"

I roll my eyes at the melodrama and quickly pull out my phone. My fingers fly across the miniature keyboard, and my eyebrows crease; finding the right last words can be difficult, even for a genius. Maybe especially for a genius. I have never been great with the emotional. I close my phone, take a deep breath, and put it back in my jacket pocket. I can go now. No regrets. I will fly.

I walk over to the ledge; I put both feet on it this time. I turn around and face Moriarty. I mirror the smile on his face. People, faces, names, dates, cases. They flash rapidly before my eyes, and I know. This is it. In another life, I would have seen this coming. In another life, the Great Sherlock Holmes could have predicted Moriarty's move. But this is my life, and I will sacrifice it to save my friends.

With arms stretched wide and with my eyes locked on Moriarty, I shift my weight back and fall. I look up at the sky, and for a couple seconds it feels as if I really am flying. In another life, there would have been a mat to break my fall. In another life, I would have tied a bungee cord around my abdomen and rebounded through a window. In another life, John would save me. But this is my life and I choose to end it now. A sense of calm washes over me. I close my eyes and wait. I feel pain, hear bones crack, and then pass on to a better life. A life where the emotional comes a little easier to me. A life where I say all the things that need to be said.

John is sprinting now. He feels panic. _Sherlock, what have you done this time?_ Thinks John. He stops abruptly, realizing he had almost run out onto the street. John catches his breath and realizes that he doesn't have a clue where Sherlock might be. Then, he hears a deafening crunching sound. People start screaming and kneeling around something at the base of a tall building. In between onlookers, John sees curly black hair and a blue scarf. His chest aches. He feels as if his heart is trying to escape from his chest. He runs across the street, terror welling up inside him. It's him. It's Sherlock. And John's heart breaks.

Dazed and out of breath, John runs all the way back to 221b Baker Street. His tears are falling freely. Why shouldn't they? His best friend in the whole world just killed himself. His grief quickly transforms into anger. With tears still flowing, John begins to tear the room apart. He rips up case notes, smashes mugs, and flips the table over. His eyes scan the room; they fall on Sherlock's violin case. With every intention of smashing the blasted thing to pieces, John grabs it, roughly opens the case… And promptly breaks down. He sees the violin and remembers Sherlock playing it. The arrangements had been so beautiful that they would have made a seasoned army general blubber like a baby. The weight of what happened came crashing down on him so suddenly he collapses into his armchair, sobs racking his body.

In another life, John never would have left Sherlock's side. In another life, he could have saved Sherlock or could have even convinced him not to jump. But this was his life, and he didn't regret a single case with Sherlock Holmes. He doesn't know what to do now. His life feels over. Then he remembers.

The text.

After finding Mrs. Hudson very much alive and well but before seeing Sherlock spattered on the sidewalk, he received a text from his friend. From Sherlock.

With shaking hands, John pulls out his phone and opens the message.

John

Don't believe the rumors.  
JM still alive.

For everything I didn't say.  
For every hurtful thing I _did_ say.

I'm sorry.

Thank you for your patience and your brilliance.

Your best friend,

Sherlock Holmes

The floodgates open; he puts his head in his hands and grieves for his dead friend. His best friend. After a few minutes, he is finally able to calm down. _JM still alive? _He thought. _James Moriarty._ The penny drops. Sherlock is dead because of Moriarty.

Stone-faced and cold-hearted, John comes to a decision. Moriarty is going to die. No more grieving. No more sobbing. He is going to kill Moriarty. His best friend is dead. Sherlock is off to a better life, but _this, this_ is John's life.

In another life, he wouldn't kill anyone. In another life, he would be arguing with Sherlock right now about a case. But Sherlock is gone, and this is John's life now. And he is going to spend the rest of it hunting down James Moriarty.

**So I hoped you guys like it! I enjoyed writing it. **** I originally intended for this to be just one chapter, but if y'all want me to keep going with John and Moriarty, I will! Just review and favorite please. Also, any suggestions for future stories would be greatly appreciated. **** I probably won't try any really long stories for now, but I'm probably due to write a multi-chapter here pretty soon. Thanks for reading and again please review/favorite! **


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